


Starved

by Bisexualtrashlord



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Flint is sad again, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Thomas is there to help, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 21:51:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13304007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bisexualtrashlord/pseuds/Bisexualtrashlord
Summary: James denied a deep part of himself for decades, a part that longed to be expressed. Thomas gives him the courage to.





	Starved

**Author's Note:**

> ...I don't have much to say except touch starved James is such a rich concept and I'm glad I wrote something about it. Enjoy!

It’s been two weeks since their kiss in front of Thomas’s father, two weeks since James let his walls come down for the briefest second. The softness of Thomas’s lips coaxing his soul to open, to allow the warmth he’s denied himself for decades, giving himself the tiniest permission to feel good for once in his life. The second Thomas’s hand nestled on James’s jaw, James felt as warm as the candles lit up around them, burning as bright as each of their wicks.

It was when they parted, and when James returned to his home, that he felt cold and reserved again.

In the dark silence of his room, the voices that plagued him crept around him until they were ringing in his ears. Thomas was not there to distract James; his kind smile and soft eyes were not around to keep him sane now. The voices were in full force to the point where James felt suffocated.

_This is disgusting. This wrong. How dare you._ Thorny vines of doubt and hatred wrapped around him, constricting him and sinking deep into his bones. He laid on top of his sheets in bed, sounds of shame lulling him into a dreamless sleep.

The chilly voices followed him into the morning and into the Hamilton estate. James hated the way the voices and doubt cut into him so deep, that not even the warmth of Thomas’s voice and gentle gaze could melt them away. It grew too terrible that James recoiled his hand when Thomas’s fingers briefly brushed his.

“The humblest apologies, My Lord,” he muttered, eyes downcast on the deep cherry desk and the papers strewn on it.

“J…not a problem, Lieutenant,” James did not have to raise his eyes to see the hurt in Thomas’s, for the tiny crack in his voice gave it away.

“Shall we continue with our plans? You have to present this to Earl Davenport tomorrow afternoon.” James said, clearing his throat and picking up his quill, clutching it tightly.

“Yes. Yes we should,” Thomas said curtly.

The sun was just beginning to dip away when they finished their work for the day, candles in the room replaced and burning bright.

“Would you like to stay for dinner? Miranda and I always welcome your company,” Thomas asked, voice hopeful.

“No. N-no thank you, I really must be going,” James said, swiftly rising from the desk and heading to the door.

“James the night is young, surely you’d like to unwind after pouring over documents all–” Thomas assured him as he attempted to follow James through the hallways and down the stairs.

“I said no—I…you and Lady Hamilton are very generous, but I would not want to overstep more than I already have,” James replied tightly, taking his coat from the valet with more force than he meant.

“You haven’t over… _ah._  Well I…I suppose you’re right, it is rather late. Goodnight J—Lieutenant,” Thomas muttered voice shaking at the sound of James’s military title than the name he’s come to think of as a prayer. Every ounce of Thomas’s being wanted to embrace him, to show him that everything was still alright, that whatever malignant thoughts plague James’s mind he could put them at ease. But looking at the bone straight posture James held now, he, reluctantly settled for a handshake instead. When James was out of sight and in the carriage, Thomas sagged his shoulders, not stopping the tiny whimper that left his lips.

Clacking of heels against marble made him turn around to find Miranda walking briskly towards him, her deep blue skirts swishing around her.

“Was that James?” asked Miranda, coming to stand next to Thomas.

“I’m afraid so,” Thomas muttered.

“I thought he was going to stay later, what happened?”

“I…I think I presumed what we shared. After our encounter last week, I thought we desired the same thing. But while he was here he refused to look at or speak to me. I might have ruined everything…” Thomas sighed.

“Oh Thomas,” Miranda murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder. “All is not completely lost, is it?”

Thomas shook his head, “I do not know, but he was not this stoic before the dinner with my father. I worry that our relationship is forever severed due to my recklessness. Why do I always do this?” Thomas asked, expression turning pained.

“If by ‘this,’ you mean give love so easily, it is because you are full of gentleness, and wish to see everyone loved. That’s what I adore about you,” said Miranda, wrapping an arm around his.

Thomas managed a small smile, “really?”

Miranda smiled back, “Yes. But you  _must be careful_. If you fear this is taking a turn like you say, you must be cautious that he will not share what happened here.”

“James would never do that,” Thomas said, voice harsh.

“I believe he will not, I only say this because I want to see you, and him, safe.” Miranda moved her arm down from Thomas’s to grasp his hand in both of hers, stroking it lovingly.

“Come, dinner will get cold without us,” Miranda gently tugged Thomas’s hand and led him to the dining room, and away from the melancholy that lingered at the door.

Later that night, long after Miranda went to bed and the house was quiet, Thomas remained wide awake. His hammered in his chest and his hands shook with anxiety as his thoughts had taken over.

Had he overstepped? Had Thomas truly chased James away? This would not be the first time he misunderstood an interaction with a man. He’s had relationships with men that began formal; but soon they would realize that something deeper was there. Thomas would initiate that step, would open that door of possibility to explore what laid between them, but that would lead the other man to retreat in fear, leaving Thomas alone. Thomas is not a dolt, he knows that not everyone can face their identity in a world that does not embrace it, he’s dealt with this all his life, but that doesn’t make the rejection any less painful.

But Thomas could feel that something was different when he was with James.

They molded together a way in which he had never felt. The connection was instant the moment they met on the stairs outside of Whitehall, and when they set their vastly different minds to purpose and Thomas felt his mind and heart race in a way he hasn’t felt in ages. The brilliant, handsome man charmed him with his sharp mind and even sharper tongue. Unlike the seemingly spineless aristocracy he dwells with, that want to agree with Thomas for no reason, James makes him think deeply and fully. Indeed, with James, Thomas wanted to see what would become of the pair.

But  _oh,_  when James defended him in front of his father.

The warmth he felt for James bloomed into a roaring fire that engulfed him. Watching James stand up to this  _Lord_ , eyes smoldering and hot like the candles around them, Thomas gazed at him with nothing short of adoration. Thomas was glued to his chair when he saw his father leave the house, gazing at James as if he were David, having just defeated Goliath. Thomas felt his eyes well up when the fearless façade melted away from James’s features, and regarded Thomas with a vulnerability the man has never shown. And when he rose from the table and closed the distance between them, lips meeting lips with the feeling of coming home, Thomas knew that James was the one, and as their lips moved together, it all felt right.

Then why did James regard him coldly?

A few days later finds James in the Hamilton study, pouring over notes and documents until the wick on the candles grew short and the sun ripped below the horizon.

Thomas slumped back in his chair and kneaded the flesh at his neck. “I think we have worked a great deal today, don’t you?”

James huffed a laugh, looking at the stack of completed drafts that were nearly as tall as him. “Yes, I suppose we have.” He stood to make a hasty retreat, straightening his shirt and making a B-line to the door.

“Hold on James, I’d like to speak with you a moment,” Thomas said, rising from his seat.

“I’m afraid I have to go before it gets too–”

“James. You know we must talk about this,” said Thomas.

James did not need to be told what he was referring to. He attempted to steel his nerve as he turned to face the other man, preparing for the worst.

“I’m sorry. “I’m sorry James, for the other night. I misread everything, and I see now that my action was inappropriate. I value your intellect and company greatly, and I fear that I may have ruined that with my behavior. If you would like to continue our work as strictly business partners, or…or would like to terminate this altogether, I will respect whatever your wish is,” muttered Thomas.

After what felt like years, James sighed. “That’s not what I w—I only think of the…You must think of the position you are in. If word gets out of what we did, that could mean the end of you, and everything you worked for. I couldn’t…I couldn’t bear to think about your legacy and rank or…or your life…ending because of me,” James’s voice trembled.

“James,” Thomas murmured, crossing the room until they were facing each other. “You have nothing to fear, not in this house. If this…if this is something you also wish to pursue, I assure you we will act with the upmost caution, and that nothing will leave these walls,” Thomas whispered.

“You act like it is that simple. Like there are not prying eyes everywhere you go. I cannot think…I cannot think like you,” James says.

Thomas shakes his head, “No one is asking you to. James, I–” he reaches out and places a hand on James’s uncovered forearm. Thomas gasps as James jerks his hand back as if he was burned.

“I…I’m sorry,” James mutters, running his other hand over his arm as if tending to a wound.

“No, no-no the fault is mine. I shouldn’t have touched you without asking. I’ll no longer if–”

“It’s just that no one has…I-I have never been…I don’t…” James stammers.

After a moment, it dawns on him. “You’ve never been touched by another, have you?” Thomas murmured, sympathy in his eyes.

James’s gaze heads downward, and shakes his head so lightly, anyone that was not Thomas would miss it.

“No,” he croaks.

“How does that make you feel?”

James shakes his head, “I’ve…I’ve never thought about…I have but…but it isn’t…that’s not…” James mumbles.

Thomas nodded slowly, and gently extends his hand. “Come with me?” he asks softly.

They walked in silence as James followed Thomas. He did not know what to think, he had no idea where he was being led. But there was something in the way Thomas asked, something in the way he looked at him, his eyes open and patient, that told him he could trust Thomas with whatever was about to happen.

Thomas stopped in front of an ornate, dark wooden door that matched the rest of the house. He looked back at James and, with a small smile, opened the door. The servants already lit the candles, and in the light James could make out the room, and his breath hitched.

He was in Thomas’s bedroom. Just as spacious as every other room in the estate, the room was decorated in soft creams and pale greens. The chaise in the corner by the large fireplace was the same shade of green as the sea. The rich brown wooden floor stretched to the other side of the room, where large windows stretched high. They were covered by billowy cream curtains woven with golden thread. On the opposite wall stood a bookcase with tomes and volumes lining it, books pressed close together they threatened to spill. The wall across from the fireplace was the home of a wide, cushiony bed covered in pillows.

“I thought we would be more at ease moving in here. It would do us a disservice to discuss something so important in a place we do business,” Thomas explained. “Please, come in,” he said with a small smile.

James walked further into the room, though still hovering five feet away from Thomas. The other man walks towards the wall where his bed stayed. He reaches a hand out and runs his hand along the plush sheets, then looked up at the other man. “James, may I ask you a question?”

James nodded stiffly.

“Have you ever been with a man?” Thomas asked gently.

After a moment, James clears his throat. “Y-yes.”

“Did you feel a closeness when you were with them?”

“It…it wasn’t a matter of closeness. It was purely…it was just for re…for release,” James mumbled. He hates the way he instinctively gazes at the floor when he confesses.

Thomas’s brow furrows, “why did you lower your head when you told me?”

“It’s not something I…it’s not something I care to admit, or think about,” James said, eyes remaining downcast.

Thomas walks from the bed and moves closer to him. “James, look at me,” he murmurs.

Hesitantly, James raises his head; green eyes meeting blue.

“There is nothing to be ashamed of, James. Your pleasure and feelings are yours, and that is all that matters. But you are worthy of gentleness, too. If you would like, I will remedy that for you,” said Thomas.

“I-I wouldn’t know what to do.”

Thomas shook his head, “You don’t have to do anything, if you do not wish.”

“You want to touch me?” James asked, voice small.

“Only if you want me too,” Thomas whispered.

_Want._  James cannot remember the last time that word was in his vocabulary. He never took the time to want things; he would push back his desires and wishes and hopes deep down inside him, never to surface. It was safer, quieter for him that way. The voices couldn’t bother him if they had nothing to bother him for. But here, surrounded by soft greens and luxurious fabric, with this man gazing at him with complete sincerity, he’s never felt more at ease. He could not put it into words, but Thomas was like a layer of protection in a torrential storm, guiding James to safety. James never allowed himself to feel safe.

He swallowed thickly, and nodded.

Thomas slowly reached out and wrapped his index finger around James’s little finger, and began to weave his hand around James’s fingers until his hand was in Thomas’s. Thomas glided his thumb along the back of James’s hand, learning the story of this man with every scar and bump along the skin. He looked up at James and saw his mouth formed in a thin line, breathing heavily through his nostrils. His eyes were glued to his hand in Thomas’s.

“Is this alright?” whispered Thomas, moving his thumb to the inside of James’s palm.

“Yes,” James croaked.

Thomas nodded with a small smile, and took James’s hand in both of his, gently lifting it. “You have beautiful hands.”

James’s breath hitched, “what?”

“You have beautiful hands, James. There’s so much strength in them; power. But there is tenderness  also.”

“You can tell all of that from my hands?” James asked, voice tight.

“I can when they are this lovely,” Thomas murmured.

James never thought himself as tender or beautiful. How could he? Son of a carpenter, hands grown rough and ragged from work and toil and duty. The skin on his palms cracked from building a wall never to come down, keeping him away from everyone. But somehow, the simple utterance of someone calling him beautiful tears a vital crack in the foundation.

James is snapped out of his thoughts when he feels Thomas’s hand trail away from his hand and up his wrist, running over his strong forearm. Thomas’s hand was so warm and soft, and touched him as if he were something precious, delicate and fine that requires careful movements. Thomas’s actions, this entire moment, was so intensely and purely intimate that it made James audibly shudder.

Thomas’s eyes snapped up, eyes full of worry. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, n-nothing is wrong. This is just…this is all so foreign to me,” James whispered.

Thomas nodded, “It’s scary, isn’t it, being this vulnerable with someone else like this? You feel bare, stripped naked, as if you were being skinned alive,” he said, sliding his hand from James’s forearm to his bicep, and up towards his shoulder. Thomas took in the way James’s eyes fluttered closed, and shuddered again.

“But the purpose of vulnerability is to make each other feel safe and comforted, not demeaned or belittled,” he took James’s shoulders in his hands, and gazed at him, “I would be your balm and your comfort, to offer you gentleness in a world that is grossly opposite, if you’ll have me.”

James could hear the voices of shame chattering in his head, a malignant cacophony of sounds telling him he was wrong for this. But he knew, oh, how he knew how right this was, how right Thomas was, how right  _they_  were together. James had spent his life with voices screaming in his head. It’s time he screamed back.

He wanted Thomas, needed him. As he admitted this to himself, tears began to form in his eyes.

“Please,” James whispered, voice cracking.

Thomas’s face lit up brighter than any fire could be, and a smile crossed his face. He moved closer and leaned in, James following suit. Their hands weaved together, then their lips met in a chaste kiss, though small, left both men gasping and shivering for breath when they parted.

“I’ve wanted this for…for so long…” James breathed as their noses nuzzled together.

“As have I. I think one of the bravest things people can do is admit and embrace what they want. It takes immeasurable strength to do so. James,” Thomas pulled back to fully look at him, and raised his hand to caress his cheek.

“I’m so happy I can be here to witness this, witnessing you embrace the things you want. You…you continue to surprise me, in all things.” Thomas’s voice turns harsh. “This damned place, it tortures and chokes the life out of every person that simply seeks happiness, filling peaceful minds with lies about themselves. I’ve heard them, you’ve heard them too, haven’t you, James?” Thomas asks, voice becoming soft once again.

That’s all it took. James feels the whimper and sob before it escapes his lips, tears falling from his eyes. The empathy Thomas is showing him, connecting them on an even deeper level, is enough for the foundation in James’s wall to crumble and collapse.

“Oh James,” Thomas murmured, pulling him close and embracing him. James buried his head in Thomas’s shoulder without a second thought, gravitating to the other man’s warmth and empathy.

“You were told such terrible things about yourself. That…that you were something terrible and evil and malicious. You were told these things for years, and I am so, so sorry,” Thomas choked, feeling tears well up in his eyes as well.

“But-but you must know, that you are  _none_  of those things. Th-those awful things you’ve heard for years are not true. James, you are kind, and brilliant, and beautiful, and worthy of everything that is wonderful in this world” Thomas sniffled. The first of his tears fell when he heard the sob from James, still resting at his shoulder.

“Thomas…” James wept.

“I know, I know James; I know,” Thomas whispered, running a hand along James’s back, reaching to his hair.

“I’m sorry…” James whimpered.

“Shh, shh…you have nothing to be sorry for, I promise. You can let go now James, you can let go with me.”

James let himself cry, let the dam break and allow everything he held back for ages. Ten, twenty plus years of pain and shame and fear and hatred he kept pressurized finally,  _finally_ , found their way out. And Thomas was there through it all.

When he cried, Thomas held him tighter, when he let out wails and whimpers despite himself, Thomas rocked him where they stood. And when James spoke broken words of apology, Thomas kissed his temple and assured him that it was alright, and that James was alright. This closeness and comfort grew to a point where it almost overwhelmed him, but he found he wouldn’t dare walk away from it again, not when Thomas was a weight that kept him so grounded.

The voices were gone. Safety was put in its place.


End file.
